The Democratic advocate., 1887-07-16
Selett STORY.
THE DREAM HOUSE.
From Longman's Magazine.

PART MRS. ARBUTHNoT s STORY.
-4our life is not a dream but It may become a
dream, aild perhaps ought to become one '-Novlais
We are not people with large balance
at our banker's-we cannot afford to make
mistakes; so year after year, when the time
comes to go into the country, the choice OF
a locality and of house is the subject of
anxious thought. We study advertise
ments, consult house agents, make our
friends lives a burden to them by asking
for information, and spend hours in discus
sing the advantage of this house over that.
We, consists of myself and my four daugh-
tiers. They wish to go where they can find
dancing and tennis, and make themselves
believe that they are stillid London; l like
some romantic old-world house beset with
traditions and memories of the past. My
desire is to find this on the northeastern
coast; or else my house shall be sirt round
with heather, and stand in the centre OF
s0me breezy moor. They sbriek at the
idea of such isolation; l wall when they
ddlaAe on the charms of the Pump-roop at
Harrogate or the Spa at Scarboro.
This difference Of opinion has more than
once lost me house which have thought
perfect. Sometimes nay daughters have
yielded, and we have gone to a place which
i told them their higher nature ought to
Head them to admire. They never seemed
ito find any pleasure in it, but moved list
lessly about all the time we were there, and
declared themselves wholly HRinyigorated
by moorland breezes or seaside airs. Some
times in my burn abandoned my prefer
ences and went where bands played and
yagrant musicians made the air hot with
perpetual musicings. My daughters joys
were not my joys-mine were not theirs;
consequently every year made our journey
iugs in search of health more Of difficulty
and anxiety. Perhaps the worry of inde-
cision and hopelessness OF pleasing both
parties has told on me-I almost think it
has. Learned men affirm that when we
dream by night of what is occupying our
minds by day it is q sure sign that we are
iniuring our health by allowing ourselves
to be too much absorbed by one subject. !
found myself constantly dreaming of houses
houses such as l myself delighted in,
gith thick walls which cast cool, gray shad-
owx. oak doors which would shut and keep
shut. well made windows which did not
rattle with every puff of air and admit
every breeze that blew, and looked on
pleasant woods OF sweet secluded meadows.
How infinitely more delicious these after
the turmoil of London season than the
brick and ahalf thick lodgings found in
places of fashionable resort. As months
went by found these dreams of mine oc-
cupying themselves exclusively with one
house. 1t was boary, lichened, venerable,
and stood in large grounds, 1t had hall
die walls of which were hidden by book
shelves filled with pleasant looking old vol
umes. The rooms opening out ofthis were
quiet and reStfnl in color, and had been
furnished well nigh century ago. Some
portraits hung on the wall. There were
portraits, too, on the wide old staircase
dingy warriors in black frames, and tables
whose blue and yellow dresses were
obscured by the hand of time. a wide
corridor upstairs was great delight to me
in these my nightly excursions. roamed
about it aneeasipgly- were so many
doors to open, so many new things to in
Uestigate. Many time, alas, while ex-
ploring Rexly discovered cabinet or spec
nlating es the character of some beauty of
other days, Was rsdely aroused by my
housemaids prosiac at is 8 clock, ma 'am i,
If you please, and awoke to find that my
house in which / had dwelt all night-my
house which my soul delighted and my
spirit found such bounteous and ample rest,
was but dream house, and had vanished,
and was occupying one in Harley street,
and must get up, dress myself, and go down
to breakfast-:here, ifit were summertime,
to be once more perplexed by the question,
t'Where are we to 90 for our holiday ?"
81 say Searboro, said Agnes, on one of
these occasions. She was my eldest and
prettiest daughter "The Ducles are going
there, and it always does me the most good.
1t does everyone good, mother; none of the
girls you see there are as pale as we are;
they have pretty color-even you must
own that"
l answer promptly, and declare with
truth, that it is impossible to form con-
ception as to whether the girls at Scarboro
are benefting by the fine air Of the place
or not, for their faces are so thickly cover
ed with pink and white paint that no one
can see them.
Mother how naughty you are r said
my second and sweetest daughter Ruth.
s'But, Agnes, We were at Scarboro last
year, this year it is mothers turn to settle